Harry Potter and the Stowaway of Death
by Monkey in a Jump Suit
Summary: When ownership of the Deathly Hallows prevent Harry Potter from dying properly, Death himself must intervene on the old wizard's behalf and come up with a cunning plan that would allow the world-weary wizard to rejoin his loved ones in the beyond. However, as Death is ill-equipped for meddling with the affairs of the Living, there is no telling of what the consequences might be...
1. Chapter 1

AN: Yes, I know this theme is VERY overdone, but it was stuck in my mind and I decided to play around with it a little. These things seem to happen when I desperately need to revise.

* * *

~ Chapter 1~

* * *

"_Harry Potter is indeed, a very peculiar man,_" Death mused, and not for the first time. Rousing the interest of an entity that was quite literally as old as the world wasn't an easy feat to accomplish but Harry Potter was special. He had not only piqued Death's grudging interest, he had also held it for an excess of thirty years.

_"But surely, his time is finally coming to an end?", _Death pondered while leaning over the prone form of the bedridden, wheezing old man. Had Harry Potter been aware of Death's proximity, he would have surely been alarmed by the sight of the wicked curve of Death's rusted scythe, hanging perilously close to his neck.

But then again, Death doubted that Harry Potter realised much of anything these days. Only a few days ago, the man had stumbled over the threshold of his 200th anniversary upon this planet, and it was clear that he was reaching his limit. Magic could only do so much before one's mind and body began to strain under the passage of time, and this particular wizard had long outlived his due.

"_Is he not tired?_" Death pondered, casting his iridescent red eyes over the deteriorating old man's broken-down form. "_Does he not want peace_? _Does he not want to__ meet all the loved ones he lost to me over the years?"_

Such as his wife, for one. Ginevra Potter had passed away more than a century and a half ago while giving birth to what would have been the Potter family's fourth son. During the pregnancy, the green-eyed man had teased his wife about the Weasley family's inclination to producing only sons and jokingly pondered on the possibility of having six of them before he ever got another daughter. Ginny's reply had been that Harry would have long run out of embarrassing names to impart on their children before they ever reached six.

Unfortunately, the pregnancy had been incredibly hard on the red-haired woman and she had nearly lost the child on several occasions. The healers had insistently tried to persuade the stubborn woman to terminate the pregnancy but she had refused, and had paid for it with her life.

When Death had arrived to escort her soul to the beyond, she had been ready for him, her little infant son in her hands. She had been rueful about her demise but not angry - she had been more worried about her now motherless children and leaving her accident-prone husband to fend for himself than about her own death, but had been agreeable enough to come without much fuss.

Harry Potter, however, clung on to life despite the fact that even his _grandchildren _were nearly past their prime.

Had it been anyone else, Death would have simply taken them a long time ago, freeing their souls from the confines of their bodies and returning them to the nether from which they had come from. And he would have done it without much trouble, too. Most people were happy enough to move on from their lives and Death had done his duty so often in the eons past that it didn't take much effort to convince the fussy and reluctant ones to move on. But thankfully, they were few and far in between.

But Harry Potter was special. Harry Potter was not his to take.

Fate had scripted for the man to die nearly thirty years prior and Death had been literally at his door ever since. But meddling with magics that were not meant for human interference meant that this particular soul was out of his reach, even if the body it contained was no more immortal than your average muggle.

* * *

A faint wheezing sound escaped the old man's chapped lips. At first Death took no notice – the old man was making all sorts of sounds, what with his failing health – but it soon became apparent that the man was trying to speak.

"_He's sure taking his sweet time to articulate himself_."

Death allowed himself the luxury of a single, short but heartfelt sigh, the first one he had uttered in a very long time. Death, as a rule, did not experience frustration or anxiety or impatience – but sometimes, everyone needed some physical outlet for their stress and Death was no different.

Never before had a single mortal caused Death this much strife, and Death had met a _lot _of mortals. Although Death may have been the one that was as old as dirt, it was the man before him who looked the part. His face had been ravaged by decade upon decade of both grief and joy and every hard decision and every regret had etched a line of its own on the old man's face.

The man's hair no longer held even a hint of black but was as white as snow and very fine, almost like a child's. Even his famous verdant eyes, although as bright in colour as they ever were, had succumbed to both illness and age, with only the occasional glimmer of light or distinct shadow managing to pierce the thick haze of the illness that had taken root in his eyes.

Death knew that while Harry Potter was still alive, things were progressing reasonably well if a little unusually. But there would be a time when the old man's body would simply fall apart and having a soul (which was NOT the same thing as a ghost) wander hither thither in the mortal plane would be very unfortunate indeed. And Death _hated _muck-ups.

Harry Potter's feverish mutterings had become louder and more pronounced with every repetition but no one was there to hear them except Death. Both healers and visitors were reluctant of entering Harry Potter's private ward. While Death exuded a presence that was soothing to newly departed souls, the promise of eternal sleep made the living extremely nervous.

And Death had been stalking this ward for a long, long time.

The man's gibberish began to sound more coherent by the moment. Death leaned in even closer until the nonsense the man was spouting turned into some semblance of order. But it wasn't until a particular sentence caught his attention did Death move from his perch upon the man's aptly named death bed.

"Take… from… this…" He muttered and wheezed. He coughed, long and hard and then, in a voice startlingly clear and coherent, a total contrast of his muttering before, he spoke. "I wish Death itself would free me of this hell."

The man descended into wrecking coughs that shook his entire body but Death had heard the man speak, loud and clear. And who was Death to argue with such a heartfelt wish? After all, Death waited for no man, and the thirty year wait had grated on the eternal being's nerves. The rusty scythe, sporting splatters of blood from its previous victims, was raised far above the Grim Reaper's tall form and then, with a high-pitched whine, descended swiftly upon the old man's prone form…

…Whereupon nothing happened. There was no blood, no crunch of bone, no shredded skin. It was all very anti-climatic really, considering how long both man and Death had been waiting for that moment.

The only thing that happened was that an old heart, weary and ill, gave out after over two hundred years of loyal service and Harry Potter gave a great, shuddering breath and stilled, this time for eternity. The monitoring charms that had been set up specifically in case of such a scenario began to wail in alarm and a swathe of white-clad healers burst into the room, their wands at the ready.

Despite their best efforts, however, they could not bring Harry Potter back to life. _"And perhaps," _they all thought privately to themselves while appearing to be put out by their failure and making themselves busy with notifying the family, _"it was better this way." _

* * *

Harry Potter had seen and experienced a lot of things in his long life - as an Auror, as the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement and as a father. Even with several decades of his life having been robbed by a mysterious disease that baffled both muggle doctors and wizard healers, he had been exposed to more bizarreness than almost anyone else alive, with the exception of Luna Lovegood's unfortunate husband.

However, there were some things that would throw anyone for a loop, and being confronted by Tom Riddle in a dark cloak and wielding a scythe was one of them.

"You… you don't really look like I expected you to look. " Harry Potter murmured weakly, his posture uncomfortably stiff. Unlike the 'beyond' where he had met Dumbledore, this place looked nothing like King's Cross station. In fact, it didn't look like _anywhere _he had been before. His surroundings were pitch black and entirely soundless. While Harry was standing on _something_, when he had crouched down his fingertips met nothing but air. At least, Harry hoped it was air.

Although such a meeting was diconcerting to say the least, the role of death really seemed to suit the man, Harry thought begrudgingly. What with his tall stature, pale skin, eerie red eyes and penchant for wearing dark-coloured robes, he looked every bit the Death incarnate.

However, Harry Potter couldn't help but think it extremely odd. After all, it was well known that one of the Dark Lord's most ardent desires was to become immortal and avoid death. Even his moniker was testament to that, having meant "flight _from _death" in French. Perhaps, Harry mused, this was some sort of perverse punishment for the man?

"I'll have to contradict you there, Master Potter." Death said smoothly, oozing charm and malice in equal measure. It really did seem like Harry was dealing with Voldemort - at least, the version of him that hadn't gone completely insane from abusing dark magic.

"I look exactly like you expected me to look." Death continued. Harry couldn't help but raise a brow in incredulity. He had certainly _not _been expecting this meeting, not when he was supposed to be meeting his family!

Death, having noticed this, sighed and offered further explanation. "Death is the one thing in this world that is entirely guaranteed, and the only thing you can expect with any certainty. I come to collect everyone, without exception. However, I am not a physical entity in the way you are accustomed of thinking, therefore I do not _look_ like anything."

The young man's eyes began to widen in comprehension, having caught Death's meaning but Death nevertheless finished his explanation. "Therefore your mind conjures up a vision of its own on what I look like, based on your own expectations."

Upon saying this, Death's massive scythe promptly disappeared as if it had never existed at all. Perhaps, if Death's explanation was to be believed, it never really had.

"It is not by choice that I wield what is essentially a piece of arcane farming equipment. Clearly, your muggle upbringing has influenced you more than you thought."

While Harry could admit to secretly envisioning Death as the infamous Grim Reaper thanks to his time at the Dursleys, he couldn't quite wrap his mind around Riddle being equated with Death. Riddle _hated _the idea of dying. But then again, he _had_ killed so many people in his crusade for power and immortality...

"I apologise if my appearance is making you uncomfortable but it is not within my power to change the way you envision things."

Harry, having stood up (very nervously, as he still couldn't tell what he was balancing on, or whether he was standing at all) looked at Death thoughtfully.

"So... I'm dead?"

Although the question made Harry feel slightly foolish, it seemed to take Death quite a while to come up with an answer.

"In a sense, you are..." The eternal being murmured, "but not the way you should have been. At least, not officially."

"So, this isn't the afterlife?" Harry asked with a frown of confusion.

"No." Death replied smoothly. "You're inside of me."

This seemed to throw Harry off somewhat, as he spent a few good minutes just blinking owlishly. Death (having inherited Tom Riddle's temper due to Harry's own imagination), sighed with irritation.

"You have to understand that this is incredibly uncommon. The odds against it are... gods, they're more than astronomical." Death said with impatience. "But then again, with how many people pass through the mortal plane, I suppose _one _was bound to be a nuisance."

"If I'm not dead - officially, as you say - then I suppose you mean to say that I can't meet with my family?"

Harry said, a note of irritation entering his voice as well.

"Which one?" Death interrupted smoothly. "You've had a number of families over the years, as has every other soul before you. It is only souls that have not been released properly that cannot regain the memories of their lives past and meet _all _their loved ones in the beyond."

"Why?" Harry asked, anxious and more than a little disconcerted. _"_Wait... _other_ families_?" _

"Surely you don't have to ask me that... _Master of Death?_" Death asked with a snort. However, Harry was clearly not in the mood for riddles so Death acquiesced with a sigh. _  
_

"The moniker is slightly misleading. Possession of the three items - the wand, the ring and the cloak - does not grant anyone _mastery _over me. What it does, however, is effectively shield one's soul from my power. In essence, I cannot take you to the beyond like everyone else."

"But... I'm _dead... _I left my body, I don't feel like an old codger anymore, so what is this if not _death?" _Harry asked with a note of panic.

"As you know, one's words have a lot of weight in the Wizarding world so when you _asked_ me to release you, I could do so... but barely. Your soul began to flail around the mortal plane and I had to seal you within me to stop you from becoming permanently lost. In a way, you can say that I sort of sneaked you out of the mortal plane by stuffing you down my shirt."

Death stated with a satisfied smile. Harry however, looked incredibly despondent.

"I still don't understand what's going on." He muttered unhappily. He had waited so long to meet his family - the parents he had never met, the grandparents he had only glimpsed once in a cursed mirror, the wife he had lost... Sirius, Remus, Moody, Hedwig, Fred, Molly, Arthur, Bill, Cedric... the list was endless. So many people to greet, to apologise to, to get to know...

And Harry wasn't afraid to admit that he was _scared_. Dealing with unpleasant people capable of wielding magic was one thing, scores of hormonal teenagers and rebellious young adults was another but dealing with Death was simply beyond his comprehension. Death was... _ultimate... _wasn't it? What in the world could deter Death?

"I'm I bound here forever?"

Harry asked, feeling dejected. While he had a feeling that being here - _inside _of Death, apparently - was better than the alternative, he still desperately wanted to move on and gain the peace that came with _true _death.

It cheered him up minutely when Death didn't deny him outright, but the prolonged silence eventually began to dampen his enthusiasm.

Finally, Death spoke. It was incredibly odd to see Tom Riddle's confident, perfect face look so hesitant.

"There... _is_ a way." Death said slowly, as if unsure of his own words.. Although the eternal being had stalked Potter's soul for over three decades, he had never suspected that he would run into problems once the soul had been severed from the body.

Although he could imagine a way that Potter could be injected back into the system, it wouldn't be pleasant for anyone involved and would require that Death overlook some of the rules that he himself had fervently imposed for as long as life and death had existed alongside one another.

But on the other hand, he couldn't just leave Potter to his own devices. As much as the man's situation was a pain, it was Death's sworn duty to make sure that nothing happened to the souls once they had died.

"_After that, though," _Death thought while eyeing Potter's distraught face, "_I wash my hands of them." _

"The thing you have to understand," Death began, "is that you're situation is rather unique. Usually everyone gets sorted out fairly quickly - depending on whether or not they fancy another go at life - but you've managed to remove yourself out of the system."

Taking Harry Potter's astonished silence as an undue encouragement, Death continued with his explanation.

"It's the equivalent of you destroying your passport and living incognito in the world of the Living. There are perks - no taxes, for example - but the problem is that you're more or less stuck there. No papers - no travel."

There was something that Death found somewhat humorous about the dawning look of horror on Harry Potter's face.

"You mean to say," Harry spoke through clenched teeth, "that my soul is stuck in limbo because of undead _Bureaucracy?" _

"Something like that, yes." Death said with a startling lack of embarrassment. "However, if I can sneak you back among the living - which is _very _illegal, might I mention - then you can die again - properly this time - and I can book you in under a different name."

Harry didn't look _completely _unopposed to the idea, but Death felt it paramount that he explain the situation properly.

"It's not going to pleasant," he warned. "It really won't be. Plus, unlike most people, you won't loose the memories of your past which will make integrating into your new world difficult."

"Do I have to integrate? Can't I just suffer an unfortunate accident and just get ferried back?"

"You could... but I'd warn you against suicide, I really would." Death didn't elaborate but Harry decided that if _Death _went out of his way to warn somebody against _dying_, it was probably significant.

"How soon can I get settled?" He asked, anxious to get away from the disconcerting place so he could finally meet his family._ Families_, apparently. He still didn't know how he felt about that.

"As soon as I can find you a spot. Might take minutes, might take milennia. Depends."

And with those extremely encouraging parting words, Death disappeared into the darkness like he had been an organic component of it all along. Suddenly, Harry Potter let out a shocked bout of laughter when an unbidden thought creeped into his mind.

"_I think I would have preferred meeting the _real _Tom Riddle." _

* * *

Harry didn't know how long he had spent wandering aimlessly within Death. It could have been hours as well as years, as Harry found that his sense of time changed drastically in this strange world. And although the man had been wandering aimlessly for ... an undetermined period of time, he didn't know if he had actually moved at all.

Everything was exactly the same - he felt no ground underneath his feet, no air against his face and no sounds permeated his ears. The only interruptions in the constant monotony were small pinpricks of light that would appear for a fraction of a second - barely long enough for Harry to register it at all - that would flicker invitingly and then disappear just as quickly.

They could appear anywhere - in front of him, below him, above him... sometimes they were as numerous as the stars above a cloudless sky and sometimes he was completely immersed in darkness.

It felt somewhat... nice, Harry thought cautiously. As much as he wanted to rejoin his family in the afterlife, he found the prospect to be daunting as well. Would they be pleased to see him? He knew that he owed one hell of an apology to Proffessor Snape, but he didn't think that the dour old man wanted to deal with him, especially in his _afterlife_.

And the man he most wanted to see - and was afraid of meeting - was Professor Albus Dumbledore.

The man had been his very first adult idol. His feelings about the Dursleys were well documented, Arabella Figg (while nice) had seemed more than a little crazy and most of the other adults he knew - such as teachers and neighbours - just preferred to stay well clear of him in order to avoid the Dursleys. Although it was a sentiment that Harry could relate to, it had still made him more than a little bitter for a long time.

Hagrid - while a precious friend he missed dearly - had been just that - a friend. But Professor Dumbledore had seemed invincible to his young eyes. An academic genius, an unrivaled dueller, a master judge of character, an expert manipulator...

Although Harry had never truly _hated _Dumbledore - been furious at him, yes, but never _hated_ - he couldn't really appreciate the strain the man had been put under until he started working for the Auror corps. He had been so proud to see that he was _good _at being an Auror that he hadn't noticed when more and more responsibility was placed upon his shoulders by the powers that be.

Soon, however, he found himself responsible for people he had never met before, all counting on him to make the right decision and to keep everyone safe while bringing down offenders that didn't hesitate to hurt, to cheat and in some cases, even to mutilate.

It had hurt so much to see people he liked and trusted be hurt or killed on the various assignments that they were sent out on. And it hurt even _more _when it was _him _sending them out on their tasks. And if Harry could barely stand sending out trained professionals on _potentially _dangerous missions, Harry couldn't bear to think what Dumbledore must have felt like when he had to send a child to certain death.

And Dumbledore had _tried _to keep Harry safe. Unlike the Longbottoms, his parents - while talanted - were not trained duellers. And when they refused Dumbledore's offer of becoming their secret keeper... what more could the man have done? Harry didn't know.

And yet Harry had a family and a wife to support him when things became too much to bear. Albus Dumbledore had been completely alone - either adored or hated, but ostracised either way.

So when his second son was born - with his mother's auburn hair and his grandmother's verdurous eyes - he hadn't hesitated for a second in chosing his name.

While Ginny had been curious, she hadn't protested - much - to his choice. She did, however, remark that if her son was ever bullied for having a name like 'Albus Severus', it would be Harry's head on the platter.

Harry, being caught up in reminiscing (something he had done more and more frequently as he aged) didn't notice when one of the small pinpricks of light to his immediate left didn't extuingish itself but continued to flicker and grow increasingly larger.

What he _did _notice, however, was the feeling of suddenly being swept off his feet and plunged towards the bright light that had gone from being a distant little star to burgeoning supernova.

"This is it." A voice that unmistakenly belonged to Death rang through Harry's ears.

"What is that? What's going on?" Harry shouted in panic.

"Your second chance. Try not to muck up something as simple as _dying _for a second time."

And with those encouraging parting words, the light engulfed Harry in an explosion of light and sensation and then he knew no more.

* * *

He found it incredibly annoying that as soon as he escaped one realm of gravity-defying darkness, he was thrust into another. His one consolation was that in this new world of darkness, he could at least _feel _- and he felt warm, sleepy and generally content. In fact, he felt better than he had in a long time, what with his prolonged illness.

Tiredness suddenly poured into his limbs like molten lead and Harry felt his consciousness drift away as the distant sounds of rhythmical thunder lulled him to sleep.

When he came to, he was still comfortable but he no longer felt like he was floating in nothingness. If anything, he could tentatively touch the confines of his imprisonment and although the barriers were supple and soft, they were unyielding, no matter how hard he pushed. However, he very nearly suffered a heart attack when something from beyond his prison _pushed back_.

Desperate for some contact - and perhaps, a chance to escape his prison - Harry pounded at the walls with all his might but barely a minute later his head nearly lolled from exhaustion. Clearly, lack of exercise had taken its toll on him. But did that mean that he was now corporeal? Had Death been succesful at his endeavor to smuggle Harry back among the living?

However, Harry found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the past, or even follow a reasoned argument. Thought just seemed... heavy and lumbersome and he lost trail of his thoughts in seconds anyway. So when the people beyond the prison began to pound on the fleshy walls of his cell, Harry happily enough began to tap back, even though his fists felt weak and bloated for some reason.

Not long after, however, Harry once more succumbed to darkness as he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open.

When Harry came to consciousness the _third _time, he felt less comfortable. There just didn't seem to be enough _space_. Already he had curved into himself as much as possible, but his cell seemed to have shrunk around him while he was asleep. Were his captors trying to suffocate him?

At least his senses were somewhat clearer. Although the rhythmical thunder he had heard before was rather loud, he had habitualised to it and didn't even realise it was there anymore. _"Are those drums?" _He thought drowsily.

However, if Harry pressed his ear to the wall of his cell, he was certain that he could hear something else beyond the drums. Were those... people? Suddenly feeling claustrophobic and panicky _("Where the hell am I?")_ Harry once more began to pound on the walls of his cell.

It was difficult because he had barely enough space to move his arms around, let along get a good hit in. He wanted to scream and to shout but nothing more than a strangled gurgle escaped his lips.

Suddenly, the cell around him cramped, and everything was _moving_ and was that _liquid _pouring over him and where the hell had that come from and the drums were beating in a frenzied rhythm and he was _sure _that he was hearing screaming and what was that _pulling _feeling...?

When Harry Potter reemerged into some bloody _light _for the first time in what must have been _years_, he could hardly breathe because something that resembled liquid mucus was clogging his mouth and sinuses. He was asphyxiating, _terrified _and cold, so he gave into his instincts and let out a blood-curdling screerch.

At least, he had tried to do that. What came out as a spluttering little sneeze and a high-pitched whine, which was quickly smothered with something warm and fluffy that nonetheless felt coarse against his sensitive skin.

His eyes, after spending what felt like _years _in complete darkness were unaccustomed to all the harsh light so he had scrunched them up as tightly as he could, but once something had more or less covered the fluorescent lights that were piercing his irises, he opened them tentatively, trying to make out his whereabouts and the people who had been torturing him so cruelly.

What he saw was a hospital. A giant hospital, staffed by giants wearing surgical masks, all chattering with their loud voices in an incomprehensible gibberish. When he looked down, he saw an enormous arm - pale but warm - holding him close to their chest. And when he followed that arm, he was met with large, wine-red eyes that were looking at him like he was the most wonderful thing to ever exist in the history of creation, although there was a definite touch of surprise there too.

A horrible dawning sensation settled at the pit of Harry's stomach. The woman - while beautiful - looked like she had just been forced to run a marathon. Her long, black, slightly hair which had been pulled up in a messy ponytail was now plastered to her face by a thin sheen of sweat that covered her brown and cheeks.

The doctors, the screaming - his own physical weakness - could only come down to one thing.

He was reincarnated.

Harry once again felt the deep urge to cry. As he was a baby, this was considered normal so he decided to indulge a little, even if his sobs were slightly more tame than the hysterical wails of most newborns.

He was reincarnated. Death had sneakily snagged someone else's place in the world and snuck Harry in instead, knowing that if he died _this _time, he would die for good, like he should have done the first time round. If that even _was _his first time round.

Suddenly the arms around him shifted and he was lifted away from the warm, comforting presence of the red-eyed woman and even though he _knew _it was normal for babies to be weighed, measured and examined by a healer (or medic, as they seemed to be entirely muggle), as soon as they were born, something within him broke when he was separated from her.

A panicked wail escaped his lips (he had been living in total silence for months - he wanted to hear some _noise) _and he stretched out his little firsts towards her. She seemed surprised but nonetheless gathered the infant Harry back into her arms where he quickly quieted down, feeling slightly embarrassed for acting in such a way.

But the woman didn't seem to mind, and she was smiling down on him once again. And again, Harry wanted to cry.

For someone who had never really been loved as a child (his one year with his parents notwithstanding), Harry himself had loved children. Even before he and Ginny had had their first baby, Harry had helped mind the children of his friends - little Victoire sprang to mind - as well as partly-raising little Teddy. And when he had children of his own, he had been ecstatic as well as terrified beyond belief.

He loved his children deeply (even when they had let their destructive tendencies loose on the house), and the thought of anything happening to them made his blood run cold and _boil _at the same time. Bad things happened to people who threatened Harry Potter's family or friends.

And yet he had just stolen this woman's baby from her. She had carried it for nine months, probably read a lot of maternity books, dealt with morning sickness and cravings and muscle cramps and insensitive husbands who made cracks at their wives for looking like elephants with water retention (something he had done once, and _only _once in his life), and just from the look in her eyes Harry could discern that the woman already loved her baby, loved Harry.

And instead of a child that she could raise and have screaming matches with when the child entered adolescence, she had received a full-grown man who wanted to die, wearing the guise of her newborn son.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, an unbidden thought plagued Harry. _Was _he a son? Or had Death played a little joke with him? Harry's mobility was shot so he could hardly look down on himself and he couldn't really tell just by sensation alone.

The medics, having confused Harry's sudden bout of silence as a good sign, had promptly taken him from the woman's arms and were busy measuring, weighing and otherwise examining him, although they made sure to always keep him within sight of the black-haired woman who watched him with intensively.

And yet, Harry didn't really feel embarrassed at all. He reasoned that while his _soul _was the same, every thought that came to him had to be filtered through an infant's mind first (hence his difficulty in concentrating) and babies didn't care a jot about being naked and prodded by strange people. If Harry's experience was anything to go by, babies loved attention as much as they loved avoiding wearing clothes.

And this lack of embarrassment was a very good thing because Harry felt pain at the bottom of his stomach that he readily recognised as being from hunger pangs. And he had a sudden but very startling realisation of _where _he would be getting his meals from in the foreseeable future.

But even as his eyes began to close from stress-induced exhaustion, he was certain of one thing. He would not steal this woman's family from her. He would pretend to be her son until she passed away first, and then follow her and hope that she would forgive him the deception if he explained himself and his circumstances.

For now, however, he was content to just sleep. After all, ask any baby how stressful it is (being born) and they will most likely wail in horror of just remembering the event.

* * *

Thankfully, Harry's prediction of not being embarrassed rang true in the following week. Breastfeeding and diapers were nothing new to him, even if this was the first time he could remember being on the _receiving _end of them.

What he did find annoying was that he could not understand a word that the red-eyed woman... his _mother_, he reminded himself, was saying. It sounded vaguelly Asian but he couldn't be certain and since no words seemed to be repeated more than others, Harry couldn't even work out what his new name would be.

And at times - especially when he was laying in his crib, too alert to be sleeping and wainly trying to persuade his jelly-muscles to _move_ properly-he found her looking down at him, her eyes unreadable but never hostile. Not even when Harry had thrown up on her nice dress after failing to keep his breakfast down.

It was only after catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror that Harry understood why. At first (he was embarrassed to admit) he hadn't even recognised himself (probably due to shocking changes in his appearance) but when he did, he could understand the woman's confusion. Harry's eyes were green.

A vibrant, clear leaf-green that many people had commented on throughout his life. And his new mother's eyes were a rich, warm red. Nothing like Voldemort's albino rodent eyes.

Since Harry had clearly emerged from _her _womb, it was certain that he was _her _son at the very least. But it was unlikely that the father had shared Harry's unique eye colouring, so maybe that was what had worried her?

Speaking of fathers... where the hell was his? Harry had yet to see anyone but his mother, but he _was _certain that he had heard voices before in the foyer. Was she hiding him? Harry grabbed a wooden rattle and began to flail it about experimentally. His muscle strength was still atrocious but he could at least grasp things reliably now.

The lack of visitors didn't bother him much. Wizards (unlike muggles) usually kept the baby to themselves for the first few days, giving the parents and child some time to settle before being confronted with well-meaning visitors who inevitably caused a ruckus in their excitement and sent the child wailing.

But this self-imposed ban rarely included fathers, Harry thought with a grimace. _"Oh God." _Harry thought with a sudden bout of horror. _"DO I have a father? Death didn't pull off an immaculate conception, did he?"_

That would certainly be a turn for the books.

Suddenly, Harry could hear raised voices in the foyer. That had never happened before and immediately peaked his interest more than the rattle. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he pricked his little ears, he couldn't make out what was being said... not that he could understand even if he _could _hear, but that was beside the point.

* * *

Kurenai was certain that if she _ever _manage to realistically recreate the pain and discomfort of giving birth to a child, she could safely take over Ibiki's job as head of Torture and Interrogation. It seemed beyond her how _anyone _- let alone civilians! - could withstand this and emerge sane in the end.

_"Perhaps they don't." _She thought with panic, desperately trying to take her mind off the pain with a meditation technique she had learned which also had the added benefit of aiding breathing.

_"Maybe they go mad and start obsessing about baby names and baby paraphernalia and talking in baby voices..."_

When the pain stopped, she was disorientated for a moment until she could hear a sound that could not be mistaken for anything else.

It was an infant, _sneezing _(in the cutest way possible, she thought with horror) before descending into sobs.

With speed that seemed at home only in ninja, the baby's cord was cut, his mouth cleared and himself wrapped in a sanitised towel before being pushed into her arms for inspection.

"You have a healthy baby boy, Yuhi-san." The medic rattled off.

Kurenai blinked, accepting the blanket with its mewling contents. _"A son? I thought the medics told me it was going to be a girl..."* _The experienced kunoichi blinked before hastily wrapping her arms around the warm bundle.

Before this day, Kurenai could honestly say that she loved the baby, as much as it was possible to love someone you've never met before. But when she looked down on the adorable little wrinkled face and small doll-like hands that were flailing about, looking for something to grasp, she could honestly say that she had fallen in love with the child all over again.

The baby seemed to have a surprising amount of fine, downy hair on his little head. It appeared to be black, like Kurenai's own, but it was damp so it was possible that it could be a dark brown as well.

However, when the tiny baby cracked open its eyes, taking in the world around him, Kurenai breathed in sharply, causing the medics surrounding her to look up in surprise.

The baby's eyes were green. A deep, monocoloured green the likes of which she had never seen before. Nobody she knew had eyes like that. Not her, not Asuma, not _anyone _in her family or the Sarutobis. How...?

Before she could formulate a coherent thought, the baby was snatched out of her arms by the medics who were intent on examining the child for any potential health problems.

To her surprise, the little baby immediately let out a distinctly unhappy wail and reached out with its tiny fists towards her. Shocked - but feeling incredibly warm inside - she accepted the baby back into her arms where it settled almost immediately, blinking up to her with sleepy - emerald green - eyes.

Kurenai was surprised. All the baby books she had read - mostly on Shikamaru's insistence - stated that while babies were undoubtedly attached to their primary caregivers, it wasn't until about three months of age until they began to show preferential treatment to anyone. And yet her child had immediately clung to her.

Any doubts she had had about the baby vanished as if they had never existed. This _was _her baby and it was most certainly Asuma's. A blood test on a later date could be used to clear any doubt anyone might have due to his odd colouring but anyone who tried to imply anything about her or Asuma that wasn't strictly flattering, would get a complimentary fist in the face.

* * *

Shikamaru never thought he would say this, but he was _pissed off_, and it had everything to do with Asuma's silly woman. Ever since his teacher had died at the hands of that Akatsuki bastard, Shikamaru had done everything in his power to check up on the woman and ascertain that she and his sensei's unborn baby were doing fine. This including prodding her to visit the hospital nearly every other day and showering her with baby literature that he had swiped from the Konoha public library.

Ninja libraries rarely had anything useful when it came to baby care, he had checked. Twice.

And even though the medical staff at the pregnancy ward were sick of the sight of him and the library staff at Konoha's civillian library thought he was some sort of sexual deviant who was fathering a dozen or so babies, it had all been worth the extreme _troublesomeness _if it meant that mother and child was well.

Which is why he was so angry about the fact that while the kid was nearly a week old, he had yet to see the brat! He had heard from Kurenai (and the medical staff which he had interrogated afterwards, just in case) that the baby was _fine - _if not the gender they had all expected - but otherwise doing very well.

Shikamaru could understand that after something as troublesome as giving birth, you'd want some time for yourself to get your shit together. Women were touchy about silly things like hair and bags under their eyes, so he had let it slide at first.

But day after day went by and even though he visited _every day, _not once had the stubborn woman let her in to see the kid, always finding some sort of excuse.

Generally, she would tell him some cock-and-bull story about the kid being asleep whenever he visited, and that he was easily roused and difficult to calm down again.

Firstly of all, Shikamaru doubted that any child of Asuma's would ever be 'difficult' in temper. Secondly, he had heard from Shino (whose bugs Shikamaru had enlisted to aide him when he realised that the usually sensible Yuhi Kurenai was being incredibly troublesome) that while the baby _did _sleep a lot, it was also extremely easy going and never made any fuss when put to sleep.

If anything, the kid was _too _quiet. Most babies would yowl their heads off when they were hungry or had shat themselves, but Yuhi's progeny only whimpered at best.

Strange. Hinata and Neji (he had enlisted the both of them seperately to see if their reports covaried) couldn't find anything wrong either, even if Hinata had shyly suggested that the baby had a rather sizeable amount of chakra for a newborn.

Since the babe was the offspring of two elite ninja, this wasn't a concern. His _concern _was why she wouldn't let Shikamaru see him!

And it wasn't just him, although he suspected that he was being the most anal about it. Chouji and Ino wanted to see Asuma's son too - neither of them had any siblings, so this would be the first time the two of them would see a little baby up close.

Of course, Team 8 wanted to check up on their absent leader as well, to wish her well and make sure she was OK. Hinata and Shino were both concerned about Kurenai's strange withdrawal from society, but Kiba (the total moron) had declared it to be perfectly normal.

_"Bitches who've just littered will be REALLY protective of their puppies. They'll make hidden dens and bite anyone who tries to get too close, so it's best to just wait it out."  
_

Although to Kiba, the term "bitch" wasn't anything insulting - to him, it was just another name for "female" - it had earned him the usually gentle Hinata's wrath and the Inuzuka could be seen wandering about the village, grumbling, while dragging his immobilised right leg after him. He made for a sorry sight, even if he _was _somewhat more snappish than usual. _  
_

But that was beside the point. Shikamaru knew for a fact that Kurenai had many friends among the upper ranks who - while not particularly keen on babies - wanted to enquire about her health and show respect to Asuma's kid and the Sandaime Hokage's grandson.

Konohamaru, not surprisingly, seemed to be a little uncertain about the new development. For as long as he could remember, he had been the "Hokage's grandson" and now he could no longer claim that title, what with having to share it with someone else.

But on the other hand, the brown-haired Sarutobi really wanted to see what Uncle Asuma's kid would look like and if he would be inclined to play ninja with him, since his rival Naruto was usually too busy to deal with him anymore.

Konohamaru himself was often rushed off his feet (what with his new genin duties), but he still lamented for the times when he could just run about Konoha, throwing cardboard shuriken at his friends and pretending that a single misstep _won't _spell his or his friends' immediate death.

In the end, Shikamaru decided he would do something that would make Naruto proud to the very bottom of his ramen-loving soul. He would to Kurenai's house and he would kick the goddamn door down if that was what it took.

* * *

"Shikamaru, NO!" Kurenai snarled, grabbing the young chuunin's shoulder with her right hand. However, the young genius didn't falter in his stride but he effortlessly slipped out of the confines of his vest which remained hanging loose from Kurenai's clenched fist.

She knew she couldn't hold it off for much longer. Shikamaru was bound to find out sooner or later but it was _his _reaction that frightened her the most.

The young adolescent had been enormously helpful - if a bit patronising - throughout the entire pregnancy and she had found a good friend in him. However, she was aware that his primary concern was carrying out Asuma's final will - to look after her and her baby - so she knew that if the young chunin thought that Kurenai had given birth to someone else's child...

With a calm look on her face but with dread curling in the pit of her stomach, the mistress of illusion hurried after the pony-tailed chuunin. _"Maybe I can catch him in a genjutsu." _She thought desperately.

* * *

When Shikamaru entered the room, the first thing that his eyes immediately zeroed in on was the lone wooden crib, stationed near the window. And it it lay the unmistakable form of a small infant, waving his little arms about.

_"Doesn't look like he's sleeping to me." _Shikamaru thought with annoyance. However, he didn't storm over to the baby like he had initially planned to.

He allowed the black-haired woman to catch up with him and while she was calm-faced, Shikamaru could tell that something was troubling her.

"Kurenai, we're all worried about you." He stated quietly. "You've been acting beyond weird this whole week. Please give me a perfectly reasonable argument that would make me feel bad about pestering you this entire time." He looked up and stared straight into her wine-coloured eyes. "Please."

Kurenai hesitated but then sighed with resignation. "I was scared of what people would think of me when they saw my baby." She stated quietly. Shikamaru felt his brow rise in curiosity.

Kurenai walked over to the crib and expertly scooped up the tiny infant, supporting his bottom and the back of his head like she had been taught by the medical staff in Konoha's General Hospital.

She handed the visibly curious infant to Shikamaru who stood silent and still before clumsily accepting the infant.

The child was tiny but he supposed that was normal for someone who was nine months and a week old, if you included the time when he was still being 'assembled'. He had tufts of fine coal-black hair which stuck up whichever way and pale skin, all of which clearly indicated Kurenai as the mother.

However, when the beaming baby looked up into his face, Shikamaru froze under the strangely intelligent gaze of a baby who had eyes so green that he had never seen a colour so intense on another human being before.

* * *

AN: Once again, I know that it isn't exactly original (in any way) but it just popped up into my mind and it had to be written. I may continue this in the future, but I have no idea for a name for Harry. I don't know if Kurenai was married, so that means that he's probably going to be a Yuhi, not a Sarutobi (although I like the latter more). XD

Also, I've never had a baby and know next to nothing about them. If there's anything glaringly wrong with anything I've said relating to child-care... well, that just goes to show how good a mother I _wouldn't _make. ^.^

* I read somewhere that Kishimoto intended to make the baby a girl. So I decided to give Kurenai a surprise. XD


	2. Chapter 2

~ Chapter 2 ~

* * *

Although the experienced kunoichi's face was almost completely void of any emotion, it was with no small measure of anxiety that she stared at the back of the usually laid-back teenager. After all, Shikamaru had (within a span of a few months) gone from simply being one of her lover's favourite students to becoming someone she considered a close personal friend.

His opinion _mattered _to her.

With the war with Akatsuki in full swing, every available ninja had to be utilised to their maximum potential, regardless of their rank, age or affiliation, yet Shikamaru - who himself was incredibly busy with his duties as one of the chief strategists for the Allied forces - had taken the time to pester her with well-meaning reminders to take care of herself and provided her with everything (that _he_ thought) she needed in order to take care of an infant.

Although the ponytailed chunin's face didn't betray any emotion, Kurenai knew the Nara heir well enough to know that his brilliant mind was in turmoil, trying to rationalise _how _his brown-eyed sensei and red-eyed lover had produced a baby with unmistakably green eyes.

And the chuunin's hesitation _hurt_.

Rationally, Kurenai knew that no one in Konoha had eyes like her son. Not her (with the Yuhi family's customary red or blue eyes), not Asuma (with his Sarutobi brown), _no one_. And although she _knew _in her heart that her son was Asuma's, it simply wouldn't appear that way to anyone else.

But couldn't Shikamaru - of all people - have a little faith in her?

One of the reasons why she had decided to keep her son away from the admiring public for the time being was in the vain hope that her son's beautiful green eyes would change - at least a little - as he aged. One of the baby books that Shikamaru had showered her with had mentioned that newborns didn't stop producing the pigment melanin in their hair and eyes for some time, which meant that they usually wound up being much darker than they were at birth.

Yet her son's brilliant emerald orbs were as vivid green as they ever were, shining with childish delight whenever he saw something he deigned interesting.

After a while of tense silence between the two ninja, the infant - probably having grown bored of being handled by what appeared to be a human statue - began to flail around in the teenager's arms, shaking his wooden rattle with vigour that seemed to belie his small frame and looking very pleased with himself as he did so.

Shikamaru didn't react beyond tightening his hold on the excited baby to keep him from wriggling out of his arms, but otherwise remained motionless.

_"Every Sarutobi I know has brown eyes," _Shikamaru thought desperately. _"Asuma, the Sandaime and his wife, Konohamaru..." _Rationally, he knew that his knowledge of the Yuhi clan was extremely limited, consisting of only Kurenai herself and her now-deceased father, but... surely Kurenai wouldn't have been so worried about people seeing her son if the boy had simply inherited the eyes of a relative of hers?

Shikamaru turned around to face the matriarch of Team 8 with a question on his lips, but Kurenai's facial expression told him all he needed to know. _"If you question my loyalty to Asuma," _her eyes told him with perfect clarity, "_I'll take a page out of Tsunade's book and send you through the brick wall. Choose your words with care, Shikamaru." _

The usually nonchalant strategist swallowed carefully, beginning to seriously regret his decision to barge into the situation like this without Kurenai's consent. Obviously the elite kunoichi had had her reasons for keeping the boy to herself for the time being, even if she knew that she couldn't hide her son forever.

_"Naruto really does have thick skin if he can do this sort of thing regularly and not get a nervous breakdown." _Shikamaru thought desperately.

"He seems...," the Nara began, coughing nervously when the elite kunoichi's eyes narrowed in warning. "He seems to be perfectly healthy." He finished with uncharacteristic nervousness. Kurenai's tense frame relaxed somewhat, but they both knew that the issue was far from resolved (even if Shikamaru _had_ narrowly avoided being thrown out of her house through the walls).

But how long could they both dance around the proverbial elephant in the room?

Eventually it was Kurenai who broke the silence with a despondent sigh, causing her son to turn around as much as possible while being held so he would look at his mother with big worried eyes.

"The main reason why I 'hid' the child," Kurenai began quietly, "is not because I'm in any way ashamed of my son." She spoke with her face neutral but her voice betraying the carefully reigned anger she felt. "It's because I knew that the first question on everybody's lips will be whether or not I had remained faithful to my fiancé."

Shikamaru opened his mouth to say something - anything, really - to contradict her, to assure her that he had thought nothing of the sort - but the both of them would have known perfectly well that it was a lie. Shikamaru had - if only momentarily - questioned the integrity of his deceased sensei's most precious person.

Thankfully, the woman herself saved him from having to think up of something to say that WOULDN'T ruin their already shaky friendship.

"There was a reason why I waited this long before showing him to anyone, Shikamaru, and it has nothing to do with vanity." She told him quietly. Shikamaru flinched at being figured out so easily but Kurenai had already disappeared.

Without having said another word after the soft but heartfelt reprind, the graceful kunoichi had turned on her heels and walked out of her son's small nursery. She was heading towards an antique wooden secretariat that occupied the entire right wall of what used to be her father's study, as it contained all of her (admitedly scarce) documentation.

Shikamaru, left alone with the infant, didn't know what to expect so he stood still, valiantly ignoring the little fingers that were carefully yet insistently prodding at his face. It didn't escape the notice of the young chunin that Kurenai was showing a great deal of trust in him by leaving him alone with her son, especially considering how he had nearly sabotaged the friendship they had developed over the duration of her pregnancy.

"You're not even a week old and you're already troublesome." He informed the wide eyed baby. The boy wrinkled his little nose cutely and appeared to try and answer him back, but all that came out was baby babble and an eventual laugh, as if amused by his own inability to speak properly.

Shikamaru raised his brow at this. The baby boy was certainly the cheerful sort - nothing like the screaming and drooling creature he had expected to handle while pretending to be suitably amazed to avoid his mother's wrath. Women tended to be mad when their offspring weren't suitably praised.

Shikamaru honestly didn't know how Iruka-sensei handled his parent-teacher meetings without going bonkers. Quite often - about 70% of the time during periods of peace - the experienced teacher had to inform hopeful parents that their brilliant children were not really ninja-material and that it was advisable that they drop from the training program before they seriously injured themselves.

Thankfully, when the scarred teacher wasn't busy yelling at Naruto, he was such a smooth talker that he could literally send someone to hell and have them looking forward to the trip. The skill came in handy when dealing with difficult clients in the mission room but unfortunately, was not wasted on his students who usually lived in perpetual fear of incurring his wrath.

The lazy ninja was interrupted from his musings by Kurenai who had re-entered the room at that moment, carrying a manila folder that she unceremoniously thrust into Shikamaru's free hand while simultaneously taking her son back into her arms.

The baby cooed in delight and hid his face in the warm crook of her neck. His pudgy fingers buried themselves in her hair with surprising gentleness and unlike most children, he didn't try to stuff the ebony strands into his mouth either.

"This arrived yesterday." Kurenai spoke quietly, gently rocking the coal-haired boy that didn't appear to be sleepy or fussy in any way. Shikamaru surmised that the gesture was intended to calm the mother, not her son.

"Konoha General Hospital is understaffed and overflowing with patients." Kurenai murmured, vainly trying to smooth down her son's silky spikes. "Papers and non-essential bloodwork gets last priority, so it took them a while to get everything sorted."

Unfortunately, as someone who spent a lot of the time in the control room of the Allied forces against the Akatsuki, Shikamaru didn't need to be told that. Mission reports and requests for back-up were pouring in almost incessantly via messengers and radio transmissions from all over the Hidden Countries, nearly all of them mentioning casualties on their side.

It was rare for Shikamaru to run into Sakura these days because she rarely ever left the hospital, and with each subsequent encounter she looked increasingly exhausted and weary, continuously run off her feet in order to save the lethally wounded from death's door and to patch up the marginally healthy ones so that they could be sent out again after a (mostly symbolic) period of rest.

But for everyone that she helped, another three were brought in their stead and the pink haired medic was continuously at the risk of chakra exhaustion and it really showed on her complexion and general appearance. Thankfully, Ino - her fiercest critic and best friend - knew when to keep her silence, otherwise Shikamaru knew that there would have been tears.

And knowing Sakura's temper, blood as well.

Sighing wearily, Shikamaru (guessing that Kurenai had intended for him to _read _the contents of the file) carefully opened the already torn envelope. Inside, laid a piece of paper that was unmistakably a birth certificate with an additional document stapled underneath it.

The young chunin quickly skimmed through the certificate like he would a mission report - get the core facts first, then the details.

"Sarutobi Koharimaru." Shikamaru whispered, testing the name on his tongue. He looked towards Kurenai who was busy teasing her son by tickling his nose with a lock of her long hair before pulling it out of reach when the baby tried to reach for it. Far from annoyed, the infant seemed to be delighted by the teasing.

"It seemed to fit." Kurenai murmured, looking towards her chunin friend. "I was expecting a little girl, after all, so it wasn't like I had any suitable names prepared."

* * *

Only mere hours after her son was born, the newly-minted mother had been confronted with various forms she had to complete in order to have her son registered as a citizen of Konoha. Kurenai thought that the whole rush to get the paperwork sorted was nothing short of _ridiculous_, but was simply too tired to argue.

Immediately, however, she had run into a problem. The very first question in the very first form had requested the child's name-to-be, and the usually efficient ninja had found herself stumped. None of the girl names she had chosen beforehand were really appropriate, and she wanted to do her son justice by picking a suitable name that he could carry with pride.

At first, she had been tempted to name the child 'Hiruzen'. It was a good, strong name and it would show deference to one of the greatest men she had ever known, as well as linking the boy to his family which had shrunk so dramatically in the last few tumultuous years...

_"No," _she had decided in the end, _"he deserves a name of his very own."_

Looking over to the slumbering babe, she couldn't help but smile. Her village was at war, her lover was dead and it was possible that - if the war wasn't resolved soon, one way or another - she would be taken from her child to resume active duty, but... the very sight of him warmed her heart like little else could.

He made fighting this ghastly war seem _worth _it.

When the child showed no signs of waking, Kurenai resigned herself with trying to think of a name for her boy.

"S_omething that will be_ his_ to carry and his alone, without the shadow of someone else's legacy hanging over him."_

She thought, nibbling on the end of her pen. Then, with a small noise - more like the mewl of a kitten than anything human in nature, the boy roused from his nap. The tiny infant - small but within the healthy range - was yawning profusively and rubbing his still puffy eyes with his doll-like hands. The baby then proceeded to look over to her and seemed to brighten up immediately.

Kurenai smiled and gingerly picked up the black-haired baby, peeling off the blanket that the medics had wrapped her son in. When she finally untangled him, she let out a startled laugh.

It became clear that the medics hadn't done the best job of washing her son (she inwardly fumed through her surface amusement) because there was still birthing fluid left in his (rather long) hair that had dried and tangled his hair together when the baby had moved against his bedding.

When inspiration struck, Kurenai snatched up the registration papers and confidently filled in the "name of new-born" section.

_"_I think it's a good name, don't you?" She asked her bemused infant whose eyes had once again begun to close as he succumbed to slumber. "My wild little nest of thorns." However, the baby's eyes had already closed and his little chest was rising slowly in that state of deep sleep that only small children could reach.

* * *

Shikamaru chuckled weakly. However, privately the teenager couldn't help but approve of the name. While unique, it still denoted him as a descendent of the Sarutobi clan while simultaneously acknowledging Kurenai as well.

The mistress of illusions was well known for her love of plants and the ninja techniques that involved them. Even the dress she had worn while still on active duty had sported a distinct thorn pattern. (According the Asuma, that particular dress had been the talk of the town among pubescent boys everywhere, much to the bearded jounin's chagrin. Apparently her international bingo book entry had sported a rather... flattering... photo of the genjutsu mistress.)

And Konohamaru would probably be pleased about not being the only Sarutobi with an odd name anymore.

_"Konohamaru and Koharimaru." _Shikamaru thought with a wan smile. _"They sound like a right pair."_

The rest of the report was non-essential, really. The baby was a healthy weight and length, although his eyes lingered on the baby's blood type. Kurenai's was AB, a fact that he knew well because he had made it a habit of his to steal Kurenai's medical files when she refused to hand them over at the beginning of her pregnancy.

The baby however, had a blood type of O... just like Asuma.

"Look underneath the certificate." Kurenai's voice drifted over the motionless chunin, who obediently turned over the page.

When he read the top of the report, Shikamaru paled rapidly. "Kurenai..." He whispered, "You didn't have to...," However, he was interrupted by the said woman.

"Yes, I sent for a paternity test, Shikamaru. I knew that people would doubt Koharimaru's parentage the moment they saw his eyes, but..." She turned around and placed the silent infant back into his crib.

"I was hoping that you, at the very least, would not have doubted me." She spoke with finality that informed Shikamaru that it was better if he left. However, before the silent teenager could reach the doorway, he heard Kurenai's voice drifting over from her position near her son's crib.

"Tell everyone that if they want to visit, they can." She informed the silent chunin who signified his consent with a single nod before turning to leave once more.

"Oh, and..." Shikamaru stopped and turned once more. "Don't forget to bring some food tomorrow. I haven't had time to do much shopping, and I'm sworn off take-aways for _life_."

When the brunette ninja turned around once more to leave the house, he was smiling faintly. He knew that while the kunoichi was still disappointed in him, they're friendship hadn't been ruined by the lazy ninja's actions that afternoon and that the trust between them could be salvaged, with time.

Kurenai, meanwhile, sighed. When she opened her eyes she was met with the concerned little face of the infant who had started this whole mess. "Shikamaru's right, you know." She teased gently, tickling the baby's sensitive stomach. "You really are troublesome... and yet somehow, I wouldn't want you any other way."

* * *

The following morning, Shikamaru had risen uncharacteristically early (at eight - almost nine - in the morning) to swing by the market to pick up some fresh produce for Kurenai and to stop by the Yamanaka flower shop. He had to be at the Hokage Tower by noon though, so he figured it was best to get a move on so he could get everything done on time.

When you were an intentionally renown assassin whose experience and skill made you irreplaceable in times of war, you could afford to be three hours late to meetings. If you were Shikamaru, however, you would find yourself being dragged to said meetings by your ears. Tch.

Kurenai had told Shikamaru to let everyone know that she was willing to accommodate guests wanting to see her young son, but Shikamaru knew of a way of spreading the word that would take far less time and effort on his part and still get the job done.

"Hey Ino." He greeted the blonde kunoichi unenthusiastically while ducking around the shop's open doorway. Ino, however, having grown used to her teammate's lack of enthusiasm involving anything that wasn't shogi or cloud watching, thought nothing of it.

"Hey you." She greeted boisterously, wiping her dirt covered hands in a rag she kept under the counter. Although technically off-duty (she had recently returned from a mission and was still recovering from an abdominal wound), the teenager was still sporting her usual ninja outfit with various weapons tucked away within the folds of her clothing.

The last few years had been undeniably hard on the blonde and while she still appeared to smile and joke as much as she used to, Shikamaru knew that Ino found it harder and harder to distance herself from the paranoid mindset that most shinobi adopted while on missions. Not even the safety of the village walls allowed the blonde girl to really relax anymore.

Especially not after she helped kill her sensei after he was resurrected by a ruthless maniac.

Which was why Shikamaru was hoping that the prospect of cooing over a baby and wasting money on toys and clothes that would be redundant in a matter of months, would cheer the teenager up some.

"Kurenai's decided to come out of hiding, and everyone's invited." The Nara drawled, fingering the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. The lazy teenager was itching for a smoke but he knew that if either Ino, Kurenai (or God forbid, his _mother) _ever found out that he had taken up smoking, he would get a chewing out of a lifetime. That is, _if _they didn't kill him outright, the damn troublesome women.

As he had predicted, Ino's light green eyes lit up in joy and she clasped her hands together in excitement. "Really?" She blurted excitedly. "Crap, that means I need to go home! I have to get changed, get my present, pick up some flowers... oh, does billboard-brow know?" She asked her him while hurriedly untying the apron around her waist.

"Nah, haven't seen her yet. You're the first I've told." the Nara heir drawled. _"You're also the last one I'll tell." _

He didn't _have _to tell anyone else. Ino would march straight over to Sakura - who was probably either at the hospital or snoozing in her new apartment - to gloat about knowing something the pink-haired medic didn't.

The both of them would then tell the rest of the rookie nine and when Naruto or Lee found out... well, even the people who've never heard of Kurenai would know that she was letting people visit her son.

He already could see a mischievous gleam enter Ino's light green eyes. As much as he found Ino to be particularly troublesome when she adopted that look on her face, it was much preferable to the despondent one she had been sporting the last few days when the girl thought no one was looking.

Right. No one looking. In a village full of paranoid ninja.

"See you there, then." Shikamaru drawled to Ino and, with a lazy two-fingered salute as a good-bye, he promptly disappeared within a puff of smoke and swirling leaves.

"Lazy bastard." Ino muttered fondly, tossing her stained apron in a cardboard box in the shop's storage. She had to go tell her mother to mind the shop while she was gone. With all the funerals that were going on in Konoha lately, they couldn't afford to leave people without a means of paying respects to their loves ones.

* * *

Something had changed that fateful day, Harry mused while laying on his back and sucking on his big toe. While this might not seem like a naturally tenable position for a man who had - until very recently - been over two hundred years old and carrying an impressive legacy under his name, it was surprisingly comfortable as an infant so Harry had decided to indulge a little.

It wasn't that shocking, really. The patriarch of the Potter family had always been more laid back than most, willing to roll with the punches as they come from fate's mighty fists and to accept things as they came, even if they were incredibly odd and left most others baffled and scratching their heads. _"Like seeing Tom Riddle with a scythe," _Harry chuckled.

'Harry Potter' wasn't a great name in the Wizarding world because of any supposed magical prowess that he was rumoured to possess. By the time he had retired, Harry's defeat over Lord Voldmort at seventeen had been almost at the very bottom of the list of his lifetime achievements, and one mostly remembered by his contemporaries.

What had made him "great" though, was his ability to adapt and think on his feet. What separated him from other people in positions of power was his ability to not lose sight of himself while still shouldering the enormous burdens he himself had placed there. What had kept him sane was the ability to love without being destroyed by it and to face Death without losing the will to live.

And most of all, he always tried to remember to keep his good humour and to not worry overly much about things that were beyond his control. Things like his current physical limitations.

So if Harry Potter, the longest-serving and most successful Head of Magical Law Enforcement that Britain had ever seen and a prominent member of the International Confederation of Wizards, wanted to lie on a pale red baby blanket and suck on his big toe, he would damn well suck on his big toe.

He could remember how funny it had looked like on his own children and it made Kurenai - who seemed to be visibly distraught after the odd brown-haired teenager left - laugh and tease him by continuously trying to pull the now-sticky appendage away from him, much to his consternation.

With his biological mother at least seemingly happy, something tight in his lower belly unwound and Harry could relax a little.

Harry could honestly say that when the brunet teenager had barged into his nursery, he had felt more than a little relieved. Several days had rolled by in his new household and although Kurenai had taken exemplary care of him, Harry had begun to worry.

Was she a single mother? Did she not have any close friends or relatives to visit her and see how she was doing?

And although the brown-haired man - wearing very odd clothing, especially from the point of view of a wizard - had clearly upset his mother with something he had said (or failed to say), it was obvious that he cared for the red-eyed woman so Harry had decided to let it slide... for now.

This view was reinforced when Kurenai had - for the first time - handed him over to someone who wasn't a medic or a nurse (and even then, she had been begrudging). For a moment, Harry had entertained the idea that this may have been his new biological father.

If that were the case, Harry could see why the male would be shocked. Harry looked nothing like the tan, brown-eyed teenager.

Soon enough, however, he had abandoned his initial supposition. The two of them simply didn't interact like lovers, not even as past or potential ones. There wasn't that "vibe", as Hermione would say, and she knew what she was talking about.

Over the years, Hermione Weasley née Granger had developed a reputation among the Wizarding world as being an unrivalled judge of character and expert Legilamens who could pick a hole in a story within seconds. Since Harry had put his foot down firmly on the issue of torture - not even of Death Eaters - her input in interrogations had been invaluable to Harry who, although being rather good at his job, had an unfortunate tendency to believe people.

So when one of his closest and most reliable friends had decided to transfer to his department (after sorting out the mess that was the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures) he had been relieved beyond belief.

Harry, however, decided to turn his attention back to the situation at hand as thinking of his deceased best friend turned out to be surprisingly painful.

_"The guy can't have been more than sixteen, anyway." _Harry mused, releasing his hold on his foot.

_"What's my name, anyhow?" _He wondered, frowning. When the brunet teenager had read something out loud from the file that Harry was certain to be his birth certificate, Harry had pricked his ears as much as possible but was disappointed to find that he still couldn't make heads or tails of the bloody language.

Although it _may _have been his name that had been read out, it could have very well meant "six and a half pounds" or "forty-nine centimetres" or even "fourteen-day money-back guarantee".

Strangely enough, however, although the encounter had depressed his mother a tad, overall she seemed less tense so Harry surmised that the encounter had solved some sort of issue that had been plaguing the woman for some time.

So something definitely _had_ changed that day. However, as an infant there was very little that Harry could do to help - except act as comedic relief and try to soothe her when possible. Other than that, practicing to strengthen his muscles was his priority as they - much like his general motor skills - were definitely below par to what he expected of himself.

However, when he was unable to even hold up his own head reliably, walking and talking seemed like a far away dream or a distant memory. Both, if you remembered how he'd gotten into this situation in the first place...

* * *

When Shikamaru strolled by Kurenai's home for the second time that afternoon, he was not particularly surprised to see a small group gathered near the kunoichi's home, chatting and (in the case of Ino and Sakura) comparing gifts and arguing.

With the war progressing as it was, it was very rare for an able-bodied team to be stationed in the village for any significant period of time, so most of the people Shikamaru knew were either in casts and bandages or away on missions.

Team 10 was one of the rare exceptions. With Ino's injury (that couldn't heal properly with strenuous movement) and his own position that tied him to the Hokage Tower, there was very little that Team 10 could do but help out as much as possible within the village walls.

Chouji - whose impressive taijutsu skills were nonetheless ineffective without Ino's or Shikamaru's specialised techniques keeping his opponents stationary - had volunteered to become a part-time instructor at the Academy, helping out whenever he could.

Due to the war, the curriculum had been changed to compress the previous three year course into a nine month one and the intensive training necessary to prepare the students meant that the Academy desperately needed competent teachers.

Thankfully, Tsunade-sama had more or less point-blank declared that she would send untrained genin to the frontlines only when the last adult fell dead. The new recruits were mostly used for helping out with tasks that didn't involve direct combat but were nonetheless essential and freed the hands of the older, more capable ninja.

Shikamaru could easily spot his rotund best friend (mostly due to his thick mane of auburn hair) and was not surprised in the least to see that the kind-hearted teenager had brought several folly-wrapped parcels of food as gifts.

Since Akimichi cooking was nothing to be sneezed at, Kurenai would probably be delighted.

Sakura was there as well, with pronounced shadows under her eyes and a definite pallor to her skin but the smile she wore was genuine as she argued with Ino over some detail or another.

Shikamaru noticed that the pink-haired girl was curling into herself ever so slightly, a sure sign of chakra exhaustion. When one's levels dwindled dangerously low, a common symptom was for one's limbs to gradually lose warmth and holding unto yourself appeared to make it easier to bear.

Ino - having received extensive medical training as well - knew this, but there was very little she could do to help and bringing it up wouldn't help any. Unless the ninja was in a life or death situation, soldier pills were highly discouraged and the only alternative to replenishing one's stores (and Sakura didn't have much of to begin with) was food and rest.

The Nara knew that Kurenai's own team were currently out on a mission. Although it was far too early to claim that the Allied forces were decisively _winning_, they were definitely holding their own against Tobi's and Kabuto's combined army of Zetsu clones and resurrected fallen ninja.

Tobi seemed to have realised this, because rather than the full-frontal assault he had used before (trying to overwhelm the Allies with sheer brute force), the troublesome Uchiha had switched to a more guerrilla warfare, attacking key strategic locations and trying to pick off any teams or divisions that were particularly vulnerable to attack.

As such, good tracking and reconnaissance teams were invaluable and put through their paces in order to keep tabs on Uchiha and that highly mobile bastard, Zetsu. As the Aburame, Inuzuka and Hyuuga trio was a highly effective combination, they were in hot demand and were barely ever stationed in the village anymore.

Hinata would be disappointed. She loved Kurenai like a sister and she had wanted to be there when the baby was born. However, much to Shikamaru's surprise, Hinata's younger sister, Hyuuga Hanabi, was present. She kept her distance from the rest of the group and unlike the others, she was not in shinobi garb but wearing the traditional Hyuuga robe.

Shikamaru guessed that it was partly curiosity and partly politics that had lead Hanabi to Kurenai's door. It would only be polite to show respect to the grandson of one of the most powerful Kage's that Konoha had ever had. Although the number of Sarutobis in existance had shrunk to just two - Koharimaru and Konohamaru - the name itself still carried enormous weight in the village, much to Konohamaru's chagrin.

But Shikamaru suspected personal reasons as well. Hinata had been - by most of the Hyuuga clan - considered a failure and a runt of the main house as a genin. Hanabi probably wanted to meet the woman who had managed to turn the painfully shy genin into a fierce combatant in her own right who no longer needed to rely on her older cousin for protection.

Unsurprisingly, Konohamaru was there as well, accompanied by Ebisu-sensei who had his right leg in a cast that extended from his calf to nearly his thigh. The genin - who could learn chakra-intensive A-ranked ninjutsu even without the benefit of having the Nine-Tailed Fox Demon at his disposal - looked distinctly nervous, shuffling his feet and awkwardly clutching some flowers that Ebisu-sensei had probably bullied him into getting.

And that was it, really, Shikamaru thought while scanning through the various familiar faces. Everyone else was in the hospital or away on missions, and would probably drop in at a later date when they had the time, but...

Why was Ino carrying, of all things, an enormous pink teddy-bear? As a very successful flirt, Ino was well-versed in the basic mindset of the average male and Shikamaru was certain that she hadn't banged her head lately, so why...

A sudden, horrible realisation dawned on the Nara genius. _He hadn't told them about the gender_.

Everyone had been reasonably confidently in assuming that the child would be a girl. The medics had been fairly sure about their prediction, although they admitted that due to the awkward positioning of the foetus in the womb it was rather difficult to tell, but...

Now, the lazy chunin was reasonably sure that little Koharimaru would be showered in dresses and dolls and _pink _things. How could he not have realised it earlier? Kurenai - while not particularly fond of pink - had still purchased some decidedly feminine items of clothing and toys before she found out that she had a son. However, the ever-practical kunoichi had used them anyway, figuring that the boy would grow out of them soon enough and there was no point in letting them go to waste.

The baby probably didn't care for colour (as he probably cared for little sans food), Kurenai was far too jaded to care about appropriate colours for babies but Ino... Ino would definitely be pissed off about spending her precious money on the 'wrong' gift, and would be out looking for retribution, preferably involving some of his blood being spilt.

Shikamaru decided that spending his time in a darkened room with his and Ino's fathers was preferable to the inevitable beating he would experience. So the brown-haired chunin, hands still in his pockets, turned on his heel and walked away far quicker than he had arrived.

* * *

**AN: **Wow. O.o I can honestly say that I didn't expect this old cliché to get such a positive reaction. Thank you very much to everyone who read and reviewed, you made me smile like an idiot. ^.^

Also, as you can probably guess, I've incorporated several suggestions made in the reviews and messages into the story to try and improve it a little. Big thanks to "Name Ninja" as well for the awesome suggestion!

Not a lot happened in this chapter, unfortunately, but there will be a time skip in the next one and more interesting things will happen... I swear! *cow eyes*

One again, big thanks to everyone who helped me out with writing this, you guys are awesome!

Sincerely yours,

~ Monkey in a Jump Suit


	3. Chapter 3

~ Chapter 3 ~

* * *

It is not by accident nor oversight that many of the ninja-in-training that pass through the Academy's crowded classrooms, never receive even the most rudimentary training in chakra-based healing techniques.

That is not to say that these skills aren't mentioned _at all. _After all, how does one teach the history of Konoha without at least _mentioning_ Senju Tsunade, the prodigious healer, legendary Sannin and current Hokage?

And even if you manage to somehow _discount_ the formidable Godaime, the medical ninja (or medic-nin, in short) held far too critical a role in Konoha's healthcare system and military, not to be mentioned at least in _passing_.

But children were fickle little things. Even if they _were_ fascinated by the idea of mending broken bones, repairing flesh wounds and even extracting poison from their blood, they were generally far too interested in learning _how _to break the bones and administer the poison in the first place.

Certainly, it was Tsunade's physical combat prowess - her ability to punch out opponents tens and _hundreds _of times heavier than her - that really captured the class's imagination, not her revolutionary regeneration techniques or her powerful illusions.

In fact, even basic first aid lessons tended to be a bit too much for the younger students. Instead of internalizing the potentially life-saving information, they tended to be far too preoccupied with mucking about with the role-playing exercises, going crazy with the bandages and squealing in disgust when the exasperated Academy teacher tried to instruct them about cardiopulmonary resuscitation, or CPR.

Haruno Sakura couldn't help but smile faintly at the thought, her nimble fingers hard at work while her mind drifted once more, shutting out the nauseating smell of antiseptic, fecal matter and old blood that permeated through the overcrowded medical ward.

She remembered her own introductory lesson to first Aid very well, as the Academy -for all that it taught a broad variety of skills - really was surprisingly tight-lipped on the subject of anything medicine related.

And she could - in hindsight -understand why that was. Healing techniques were notoriously difficult, and performing it wrong - or even taking the wrong dose of the _right_ medicine - could kill you far quicker than the original malady that you were trying to fix.

In fact, this could be applied to _all _ninja, not just the pint-sized ones. How many head-strong Chunin and even Jounin level ninja has she had to treat for serious infections (and even _gangrene _once), simply because they hated hospitals and tried their hands at some DIY healing?

But at the time, she hadn't really been thinking much on the clearly lacking medical information available. She hadn't even stopped to consider the potentially damaging mindset that was unintentionally cultivated in the Academy, the belief that 'only wimps go to hospital', or that you were fine just so long as you could walk on your own, an opinion that she had heard more than once in her relatively short career at the hospital.

But at the time, she hadn't really considered medicine to be a viable career path for her to follow, so she hadn't thought too much of it, other than her typical "_Is there going to be a test on this?"_ To be perfectly honest, she hadn't been really planning on her future _at all_, besides having daydreams that she was now too embarrassed to even remember.

Her focus throughout the Academy had been pretty uniform in nature, with her attention split between fighting with Ino, maintaining her position as the most academically gifted student - a title which she now considered obsolete, considering that Shino and Shikamaru could have beaten her if they _cared_ to - and making cow-eyes at a certain rookie that shall go _unnamed_, because even _thinking _of the selfish, revenge-crazed boy made her feel furious - and a little bit sad too, although she would never admit it out loud, certainly not within earshot of Naruto.

Wrenching her mind back to her Academy days, Sakura felt her lips curving into a smile, puzzling her patients. Oh, if only they knew that their _prodigal _doctor's first run in with medicine had been spent fantasizing about performing CPR on the... _unnamed _rookie and feeling annoyed at Naruto.

The blond, whiskered boy had been selected to be a 'practice dummy' for applying bandages, and was simply delighted by all the attention he was receiving. He - getting into the role of a ninja, grievously injured after fighting off hundreds of foes on his own, had been moaning and groaning as if he were at death's door.

Even the temporarily loss of feeling in his arms when an overzealous Ino - trying to trump Sakura and show off to... someone, had tightened the bandages too hard - couldn't dampen his enthusiasm.

It was almost startling how much the Academy - tasked with training young children into soldiers - now felt like a safe sanctuary to retreat to in one's own mind. Still, she mused to herself, all things considered... it was a miracle that Sakura had even _made _it past the Academy.

She had chosen to join - rather than stay at civilian school - because she had been frightened that without Ino to protect her, Sakura's old bullies would return to taunt her once more. She had then gone on to _stay_ at the Academy, because she had foolishly thought that... a certain someone would take notice of her if she did well in her classes and proved herself to be more assertive than the naturally more bossy Ino.

Everything she had done - up until her decision to approach Tsunade - had been done in pursuit of someone else. And if the blonde-haired woman with the piercing amber eyes had decided to turn her away - as a normal person would have, like _Sakura _would have, had she been in the Hokage's position - she would probably have never made it as anything more than a genin, 'punching things very hard' being her only real talent.

The majority of the medics that were bustling around her, her 'colleagues', had been trained by their families, alongside their formal education at the Academy. Those that did not come from a clan, but had the right prerequisites - sharp minds, good chakra control and the ability not to fall apart in times of stress - could be nominated for a medical apprenticeship by their Jounin instructor.

She - what with her marching up to the Hokage and _demanding_ lessons - had been... a bit of an exception. Though in her defense, most of _her_ colleagues didn't have their genin teams dissolve due to one member defecting from his village and joining one of the most hated men in Fire Country, the legendary Sannin, Orochimaru.

Neither did they have idiotic teammates that looked perfectly harmless - if a bit scruffy - on the surface but happened to house the most powerful of the nine demons within them, causing them to leave the village in order to train with one of the legendary Sannin and elude the Akatsuki, hell-bent on killing him and stealing his prisoner.

And neither, she ranted to herself quietly, evading her patient's flailing arms in order to slap a wet rag on their fevered face, did they have oddball Jounin teachers who perpetually sported a 'where am I?' Who are you people?' sort of look on their faces while they slouched about, while in reality they where a prodigal _genius_ of a ninja, with just a slight penchant for being an oddball.

Her pale brows furrowed at that, unintentionally silencing her _current _patient's protests before they even started. Although her grey-haired instructor was the only one of her team still left in the village proper, she hardly ever saw him anymore, unless it very briefly - in passing, really - or if she overheard someone else talking about the man.

Generally, it was harmless nonsense on the subject of him being lazy, perverted and perpetually tardy, but sometimes she caught bits and pieces of conversation - hastily silenced when they realized they were being eavesdropped on - that made her worry, for the man seemed to be actually _ruining _his carefully maintained facade of being a slob by overworking himself.

Yamato was the only person that Sakura knew of that had any sort of link with her teacher's rather secretive past, so she made it a point to ask him - whenever he was in the village, usually looking vividly uncomfortable while Sai's wonderful freedom of expression let itself be known - about how Kakashi-sensei was doing.

And she _knew_ that the damn troublesome man (to borrow Shikamaru's favorite saying) was aware of her asking about him, and he was still avoiding her. And yes, Sakura could tell she was being avoided, and not experiencing a bad case of clashing schedules.

One of these days she would grow a pair (preferably, a pair like Tsunade's) and simply kick the man's door down and demand that he stop hiding from his past mistakes, and acknowledge her as someone more than just Naruto's and Sasuke's tag-along, and as someone whose done pretty damn good for herself, all things considered!

Despite not knowing him very well - or at all, she reminded herself - Sakura suspected that the grey-haired Jounin simply felt too guilty about their broken-up team and avoided her in order to not be reminded of his perceived failures.

It stung, to be honest, to be ignored _again _in such a manner, but she could understand the man's reluctance to talk to her, so she could let it be... for now.

After all, she had her own dedicated group of well-wishers, constantly reminding her to 'take it easy', not understanding that while _yes_, she was tired and _yes, _her chakra reserves were nearly non-existent, she was actually _happy._

Well, happy wasn't the right word - at the moment, she was hungry and irritated and had scratches and bruises on her arms from frantic patients - but she felt _needed. _She felt _competent. _And most importantly, she felt somewhat... _indispensable. _As if would be more than just a 'damn shame' if she were to pass away, as if would be really _felt _if she was missing.

In a way, things had - though her younger self (and everyone else) would have disagreed - turned out for the best for her. And as much as it hurt, maybe having the Uchiha turn his back on her and spitting on his friendship with Naruto had been what she needed all along.

Things would have been great if her home - and indeed the world - wasn't at risk due to a pair of megalomaniac Uchiha and Orochimaru's spiritual successor, Kabuto.

Unbidden, her thoughts turned away from one pale-skinned, dark-eyed boy to another, much younger child with laughing eyes and a gaze far too knowing to belong to a baby not even a year old.

_'Had he been cheerful, before...?' _Sakura didn't allow herself to finish that thought. Thinking of 'what if's and 'how would's would do nothing but make her chest tight and her head hurt. Although only a genin when he left, in the eyes of the law he had still been adult and he had made his choice. Sakura would grant her one-time crush at least that and respect his decision.

_Which didn't mean that she wouldn't kill him if she ever met him again, of course. _

Wrenching her thoughts back towards Koharimaru, the pink-haired medic couldn't help but wonder if the child had been a planned addition to the family or not. Whipping out a small, hospital issue flashlight in order to check her patient's eyes, she couldn't help but frown. The brunette had suffered blunt trauma to her face and the medics worried that her eyesight might have been damaged as well.

When the sleeping woman's pupils failed to react to the invasive beam of light, Sakura frowned even heavier and made a note on her clipboard before moving on to the patient adjacent to the sleeping woman.

According to Kurenai, she wanted the baby to have his father's name since he seemed to have inherited everything else from her. Though the red-eyed woman was smiling, it was obvious that bringing up Asuma was still painful for her, even if she hid it much better than Ino who tended to lash out or cry whenever her dead teacher was brought up around her.

War really wasn't the best of times to bring children into the world, the pink-haired medic mused, yet Kurenai didn't really seem to strike her as the type of person who would have a... drunken accident. Had it been Asuma's idea? Had he suspected that he wouldn't survive the war, and didn't want to leave Kurenai and Konohamaru on their own?

But whatever the reasons behind bringing the baby into the world, the boy seemed to be doing a world of good for his mother because Sakura had never seen the usually sombre young Jounin act so happy and carefree as she did when with her baby. Even the usually placid-faced Skikamaru would churn out a grimace akin to a smile when he interacted with the kid.

Of course, Kurenai's happiness may have had something to do with the fact that she was no longer heavily pregnant and could move much more easily, but Sakura would like to think that it was the mother-child bond that made her glow the way she did.

Or maybe, it really was Koharimaru that acted like a living, breathing pick-me-up. You just couldn't help but smile at the way he appeared to be delighted by absolutely everything, even the sight of his own two feet.

And yet... there was something about that child that made him unusual. His green eyes - which were unusual enough for a baby - just seemed to be far too... _steady _for a child his age. And whenever his eyes did travel, it was the long, leisurely look of someone searching for a point of interest, not the typical, jerky motions of an infant.

The thought scared her as much as it excited her, as Koharimaru - whether Kurenai liked it or not - was probably the most famous child in Konoha at the moment, what with being the last Sarutobi and - quite literally - the only child to be born to a ninja clan since the war started.

Oh, there were other _children_, of course. Sakura was pretty certain that Kiba had a little cousin only two years old, and the other clans probably had very young family members but at a young age, two years could mean a world of difference in terms of cognition and motor ability.

_'He's not going to have an easy time finding friends his age,' _she thought sadly while plunging another newly sanitized needle into a patient's leg.

Tetanus shot.

Koharimaru was, in a roundabout way, a sort of symbol for Konoha's future. A child borne during - and perhaps of - war, raised during peace '_if the Konoha rookie 12 had anything to do with it', _possessing all the strength of his ancestors, _How could he not, look at his parents!', _while making none of their mistakes. _'He's going to have a whole lot of people looking out for him as he grows up.' _

She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

She just hoped that Koharimaru could grow up in a village more like the one _she _remembered from her childhood.

A village that just seemed _untouchable _with how many great men and women had lived and died to protect it and make it prosper, before the assassination (or perhaps slaughter?) of the Uchiha clan and before the fateful Sound invasion during the Chunin exams which seemed to have been the catalyst for all the horrible things that had happened ever since...

_'Back when Naruto was still ostracized and sometimes outright hated, except for a very select few that I wasn't a part of.' _

* * *

_"Finding a pair of goddamn keys shouldn't be so bloody difficult", _Umino Iruka fumed to himself while carefully navigating the treacherous maze that were his own pockets.

It would have been a lot easier (in fact, the whole mess could have been avoided) if he had normal, 'civilian' clothing, whose pockets were little more than bags of fabric sewn on the inside of the main article of clothing.

But unfortunately, as with all things shinobi, the clothes had to be ridiculously complicated too. The standard navy pair of trousers and flak jacket that were issued to all the chunin and jounin in the village of Konoha, didn't just have _any _old pockets. Oh no.

There were hidden pockets, booby-trapped pockets, pockets that lured away thieves from other, more important pockets and pockets that weren't even pockets at all, just pretending to be pockets in order to lure you in to a false sense of security.

Of course, an experienced ninja could find whatever he needed in an instant - it wouldn't do to start rummaging around your own arse in the middle of a fight, mumbling 'I swear it was just here a minute ago' and 'where did I put the damn thing'.

But unfortunately for Iruka, he simply _had _to give in to the urge to reorganize them, in order to make finding things easier. Right.

No wonder hip pouches were so bloody popular.

But in his defense, he would have already _found _the damn things if he wasn't overladen with bags that he didn't dare put on the floor, because he was almost certain that they contained something highly explosive.

One of the many hazards that came with working in an Academy full of particularly bloody-minded children that had been rejected from _normal _school.

Finally though, with some masterful balancing and a stroke of luck, he maneuvered the brass keys into the lock of his door, and quickly disabled the few traps that were littered around the door-frame.

Kicking his door shut with a well-aimed kick - something that he rarely ever did around Naruto, since the boy had the unfortunate tendency to copy him - he carefully placed the bags on the floor and, when they failed to explode spectacularly, he rolled his aching soldiers with a moan of relief.

Unfortunately for him, the fifth Hokage - while otherwise a capable leader, in his opinion - had misconstrued the late Sandaime's trust in Iruka regarding his teaching abilities (especially involving a certain human sacrifice), and had decided that he was a bloody human octopus, capable of doing eight things at the same time.

Just today, he had been eating lunch, supervising kunai practice among the older students, grading homework from the _younger _students and making exploding kunai all at the same time, while simultaneously envisioning the work that was waiting for him once school disbanded for the day. Factor in the dizziness he felt from having lost several pints of his blood to the Konoha Hospital, and he felt right shit.

Thank Kami that he was at least being paid for some of the overtime that he was doing, a rare luxury these days. Otherwise, the amount of take-out meals he was forced to eat lately would have otherwise bankrupted him. And he was certain that even if he was homeless, Tsunade-hime would still expect him to clock in his hours and turn up for work on time.

As it was, he couldn't remember a single day in the last month where he had had anything that could humanly be considered 'time off'.

But, as he contemplated philosophically, things could definitely be worse. They _had _been worse, incidentally, but things were - in a 'night is darkest before dawn' kind of way - actually improving.

Not that he could tell. Between teaching students, instructing prospective and part-time teachers, organizing (and beating up) fellow paper-work ninjas and sharing poor Shizune's fate of being the Hokage's run-around in the village, he could sometimes barely reign in his temper.

Even now, it was sizzling under his skin in an irritating sort of fashion. It wasn't strong enough to warrant a (relieving) outburst of rage, but definitely made itself feel noticed while he was trying to maintain a cheerful image.

_"The number one problem with being a teacher to kids," _he thought morosely while pouring himself a sneaky cup of alcohol that he had liberated from Tsunade's rather vast stocks, "_is that everyone automatically assumes that the sun shines out of your arse and that your above the occasional, heart-felt curse word." _

Allowing himself a minute of to go through the stressful events of the day and giving each and every cause of the said problems a heartfelt, mental "f*** you", he dropped the overflowing bag over his battered couch and plopped down next to it, the only amount of rest he had been allowed the entire day.

But as soon as the seat of his trousers had made contact with the couch, a powerful knock reverberated through his apartment that made his windows rattle in their panes.

Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Iruka dragged himself from the couch and promptly dragged his feet as fast as he could towards the door, not bothering to put his vest back on. If they were going to harass him in the sacred hours that he had _off work_, they'd better be damned grateful that he was wearing _clothes_.

_'When Naruto finally gets the Hokage hat - probably after saving the entire bloody world - I'm going to make him buy me my own hot springs, and my own personal vicious attack dogs that will eat anyone who tries to bother me on my time OFF!" _

As soon as he opened the door, however, he found his self-righteous anger ebb away, for the adolescent standing on his doorstep definitely looked far more shit than he felt.

Not that he'd ever tell her that, of course.

"Hey, Sakura-chan. Long time no see," he said, giving the droopy-eyed girl a genuine smile. While initially he had harbored some mixed feelings towards Sakura - due to her not being particularly nice to Naruto - he had never treated her any differently from his other students, as favoritism - and particularly _dislike_ - among teachers towards students was a bit of a sore point to him from his _own _delinquent past.

And besides, most people act like little bastards when they're young. Sakura had actually grown up into one of Naruto's most loyal friends and staunchest supporters, and for that alone, he liked her. Even though he _did _wish that she'd let up on the corporal punishment a little bit.

"Can I help you, Sakura? You look..."

"Crap."

"Troubled, I was going to say." The teacher said with a smile. The teenager smiled back and while it was small and tight-lipped, it was also genuine.

"Sensei, what do you now about babies?

* * *

Sakura's fist was only inches away from making contact with Kurenai's front door when the pink-haired medic paused, her arm hovering motionlessly for several heartbeats before dropping back down to her side, fist still clenched.

It had been all too easy to set aside her doubts while she was preoccupied with solving the puzzle that was Yūhi Kurenai's firstborn child, but now that she was on the brink of actually _testing _her hypothesis, she found herself suddenly hesitant.

When it came down to it, she and Kurenai-san were barely acquaintances. Of course, as kunoichi of the Village Hidden in Leaves, they shared a general sort of camaraderie that came with being colleagues, especially in a male-dominated profession.

Similarly, they shared a myriad of close friends and acquaintances that meant that while they didn't meet in _person _(at least, not particularly often), both parties were well aware of each other and received regular updates on each others well being.

After all, _nothing _and _no one _was safe from Ino looking for interesting things to tell.

But what Sakura was planning to do was somewhat more invasive than was usually considered polite among casual acquaintances. As genial as Kurenai was - considering how timid her student Hinata was and how easy it was to spook the girl - Sakura had no doubt that the woman was fiercely protective of her baby.

And was her self-initiated quest all that important, in the end? Sakura wasn't a pediatrician. Koharimaru-chan's physical and mental development - while important to her - was not truly her concern in the sense that she should interfere any more than she already had as a 'friend of a friend'.

And if anything, if her suspicions rang true, the boy was developing _quicker _than he was supposed to, which meant that she hardly had a reason to cause a fuss. And in the ninja world (where speed was paramount), the quicker the young boy started training, the better chances he had of becoming a successful shinobi.

And although from an entirely civilian background herself, Sakura simply couldn't imagine little Koharimaru being anything _but _ninja. To most children - no matter how advanced - the skills, independence and respect that came with the ninja profession tended to be too strong a temptation to resist. And she doubted that Koharimaru - prodigious or not - would be an exception.

She didn't mentally voice the thought, nor acknowledged it, but deep within her mind lurked the suspicion that little Koharimaru - particularly if anything happened to his mother, his fiercest protector - wouldn't be getting much of a choice on what he wanted to do with his life.

Nevertheless, her curiosity was peaked and she couldn't help but want to investigate the small child further. Throughout her life, she had been surrounded by people widely accredited to being geniuses in their own fields - Tsunade-sama, Kakashi-sensei, Neji, Shikamaru, Jiraiya (even if the older man spooked - and irked - her, she couldn't deny that he was a genius)...Sasuke.

Sakura abruptly nipped the unbidden thought in the bud. She knew that thinking of him was painful, yet she kept falling into the same pitfall over and over and over again.

It has to stop, she thought to herself with gritted teeth and clenched fists. And it _will _stop, even if she had to bury the image of the smiling seven-year-old, sitting in an almost empty classroom by himself, under a bloody pile of corpses that Sasuke now left in his wake wherever he went.

Nevertheless, while painful, the memory had spurred on Sakura's determination to investigate the little Sarutobi, as Sasuke was a prime example of what happened to unattended geniuses.

While often envied by their peers, children with advanced abilities very rarely had an easy time of things, often with no real childhood to speak of and the burden of high expectation always on their shoulders.

The complicated mix of behavior directed at them - not quite children yet not fully adult either - served to further complicate their already unorthodox lives.

The only one who had a relatively easy time of it was Shikamaru, who's own slob-like existence had repelled most teachers and thus allowed his high intelligence to go unnoticed. As a result - as depressing as it was - Shikamaru was actually one of the more mentally stable ninja around, as his childhood had been one of the more enjoyable ones.

Even if he did complain of a pushy mother. And Ino.

Many others, however, suffered from emotional and mental disorders as a result, and generally, adulthood and late childhood was far too late for any real interventions to work. If little Koharimaru was really a budding genius, it was paramount that he be monitored and offered supported in a way that many of her friends had never been given.

With a resolute nod, Sakura knocked determinedly on the wooden door separating her from her sub... patient. The resulting knock - although not chakra-infused - made the door rattle in its hinges and the pink-haired medic coloured in embarrassment.

In the end, it seemed all of her mental pep talk had been for naught for nobody came to answer the door, and no other answer seemed to be forthcoming, despite her knocking repeatedly after short intervals. With a frown, she glanced at the muslin curtains lining Kurenai's window, gently flapping in the breeze.

With Konoha getting as warm as it did in summer, it wasn't unusual for residents to keep both windows and doors open in order to coax even a gentle breeze into their own homes. Yet as safe as Konoha appeared, Sakura doubted that even Kurenai - a kunoichi to be reckoned with - would leave her windows open if she really _was_ out and about.

Standing somewhat dejectedly - it was her only day off after all, Sakura turned around to head home and catch a much needed nap when a sudden, somewhat muffled noise caught the pink-haired medic's ears.

It was a painfully familiar sound, one that most young ninja heard on a daily basis, particularly if you spent any considerable amount of time around Rock Lee.

It was the sound of bandage-wrapped flesh hitting an unyielding yet still somewhat 'soft' substance - like a training pole.

Kurenai's home - recently rented while Hari-chan was on the way - was relatively small but still larger than the jounin's old apartment. More importantly, however, it sported a decent sized garden at the back that could - judging the sound of things - be used as a makeshift training ground.

Her curiosity once more peaked, she skirted around the corner of the house and moved towards the wooded area at the back of the house. Although she didn't hear the sound again, her memory served her well and she eventually found both Kurenai and her small child.

The first one Sakura noticed was Kurenai - the elite kunoichi was wearing a nondescript red shirt and the standard issue shinobi trousers which came as a surprise to the pink-haired medic, as she had never seen Kurenai wear anything other than her thorn-printed dress or maternity wear. At the very least, she had expected the beautiful older Kunoichi to wear something a little more feminine.

Even Tenten, for all her tomboy attitude, always made sure to wear something at least a _little _flattering.

And Tsunade -for all that she _hated _when people stared at her cleavage, certainly didn't go out of her way to cover them up a little!

But then again, Kurenai _- _the ever practical kunoichi - probably didn't feel like dressing up when there was no one left to impress but someone who still went bathroom wherever he was put. _  
_

Judging by the fact that the trousers were rolled up at the ankle and were slightly loose around the waist, Sakura mused that they must have one been Asuma's, alongside the blade that the dark-haired mother wielded in her left hand.

It was a basic weapon, one used to teach children basic kenjutsu and was clearly 'well-loved' judging by the scuff marks. It was, however, made from very high-quality metal and the shape and cut of the blade marked it as high craftsmanship. Was it the one that the trench-knife wielding bearded jounin had used as a child to practice with?

_"Kurenai probably wants Koharimaru to have it." _Sakura mused, casting her mint-green eyes around the small clearing, finding the small baby tucked away under a cherry tree, lying on an old shuriken-printed blanket.

The three-month-old baby was lying on its tummy, his upper-body barely prepped up by chubby forearms and his pink-crawler clad feet were kicking excitedly while his dark green eyes - which made hers seem literally washed out in comparison - were trained on his mother with an intensity and intent that seemed entirely out of place on a baby this small.

Hari-chan wasn't just looking at the general direction of his mother, he was... he was... he was looking _at_ his mother, even if she was a considerable distance away from the child, and the navy blue and faded red of her clothing seemed to blend incredibly well against the facade of their house.

When the edges of his salad-green sun-hat draped over his eyes, the child made a frustrated noise, lowered himself unto his tummy and, with slightly shaky hand movements, pushed the edges away (knocking the hat almost off his head), before propping himself upon again and returning his gaze to his mother.

The red-eyed woman was busy performing a complicated looking kata with her practice sword, looking as if she was shredding her imaginary opponent into their basic component parts, looking as if she had worked with swords for her entire life and never been pregnant at all.

Sakura frowned at that, as losing that much weight in such a short period of time wasn't really going to do any favors to Kurenai's health, but as she wasn't a dietician, she was in no position to really say anything...

* * *

Every time Harry felt like he could _just _about get to use to living in this strange world of not-quite muggles, they had to go on and do something to yank out the proverbial carpet from underneath his feet, leaving him reeling and trying to come to grasps with what he was seeing and experiencing.

Thankfully, having grown up in the muggle world - only to be thrust into it at the tender age of eleven - meant that he was pretty experienced at handling surprises of the supernatural kind, even if that didn't mean that he particularly _liked_ them.

His mother - his sweet mother whose name he had yet to learn - had just made thorns erupt from the ground and destroy one of those wooden poles sticking out of her back garden, with nothing more than the movement of her hands and brief moment of concentration.

It made his mind reel, because his previous assumption - based on the fact that his mother never used anything resembling magic to do housework - was now left obsolete.

Was she a witch? Most witches couldn't handle a sword like that... but then again, he had never met any _Asian _witches during his time in the Ministry, so maybe it was perfectly acceptable for them to practice swordplay and hand-to-hand combat in their free time.

But the issue of the wand - or the lack thereof - still boggled him. In his day he _could, _if he tried very hard, perform some very basic charm-work without a wand.

But certainly nothing as complicated as the work his mother was doing! Was she a genius? Or was he living in some sort of extremely advanced civilization that had foregone the use of wands?

He actually felt a little bit sad at the thought. His wand had always felt more like a very quiet friend than a tool, and he felt himself actually _missing _the familiar shape, weight and _warmth _that he had come to strongly associate with his holly and phoenix-feather wand.

He had actually found himself growing attached to one particular toy, a rattle, due to its wand-like shape and material, which he could wield and point almost like an actual magical world.

He was also slightly horrified to find that he was extremely partial to the sound that the rattle made at the end of the toy, so he found himself enjoying it more than he strictly should...

Well, he knew he was being ridiculous - if anything, he ought to be concentrating on keeping mind on more _adult _matters, lest he found himself actually forgetting his actual age! - but it brought him joy and made his mother satisfied at having bought the right thing, so all was well within his little world.

A slight noise made him turn his head - a little shakily and still slower than he would like - but at least he was making progress and could actually prop himself up now, rather than just lying down all the time.

There was a girl, an adolescent girl, standing in their garden, half-hidden behind the corner of their house and some nondescript bushes that made his nose itch.

However, her luminous pink hair gave her away, and Harry had to force himself to focus on the issue at hand - an intruder on their home - rather than thinking of how much he wanted to stuff her hair into his mouth.

It sounded a lot worse than it was, he thought while wrinkling his nose. Ginny would definitely _not _be pleased.

_'I'm sorry dear, I know that I was fantasizing about having a part of a teenage girl's body in my mouth, but it's strictly a platonic thing, I swear. I couldn't help it!"_

Chuckling to himself, Harry blinked -his eyes felt itchy for some reason - and focused his attention on his mother and the strange girl who - having stepped into the clearing proper- actually looked a little more familiar now, like he had actually met her... or did she just remind him of Tonks a lot? Having passed away at such a stupidly young age, she was forever frozen as a young adult - barely out of Hogwarts, really - in his mind.

_Teddy misses you, Tonks. _

He thought a little sadly, somewhat convinced that the young woman could hear his words, even is he knew, rationally, that she was dead and most likely living through another life, forgetting about her orphaned child and the man she had loved despite all the resistance she had met, mostly from the man himself.

Tearing himself away from his memories - it was becoming easier, thankfully - he returned his attention to the young woman who was kneeling and spreading out a blanket and some toys in front of him, while his mother leaned against a tree and watched them, with her arms crossed over her chest.

Despite her intensive workout, she was barely out of breath. And this woman had been _pregnant _three months ago!

Although the bright colors and novelty items were drawing his eyes like a treacle tart draws wasps on a summer picnic, he couldn't help but frown when he noticed how pale and sickly the young girl looked, the skin under her eyes looking almost like bruises, they were so dark.

A child - not even sixteen years old yet - should not look like that.

His paternal side reared its head quite strongly and he found himself reaching out with a chubby arm, feeling instantly foolish for having done so. Yet the girl, without saying a word, leaned in until she was within reaching distance and Harry hesitated for a moment, before letting his toy-like fingers make contact with her cheek.

The skin was blemish-free but somewhat papery in texture, and cool - far too cool for a healthy individual - and he found himself making a concerned noise and touching her other cheek. It too, was cold.

Was she seriously ill?

The girl asked something, not in baby voice thank-god, even if the exaggerated sounds _did _make it easier for him to discern the words that were being said to him.

He had already made _some _progress, learning the names of some of the more common household items, even if his vocalization was still crap. It felt like his cheeks were too large and unyielding and his lips simply didn't move like he wanted them to, causing him to drool more often than not.

It felt like a dentist had gone a bit mad with the Novocaine, to be honest.

The girl had leaned back - understandable, since being face-to-face with a baby was hardly the most comfortable position to be in - and picked up one of the toys.

It was a bright scarlet in color - not as pretty as his mother's eyes, but close - and she was looking at him very intently.

Slowly - very slowly - she called a name, pronouncing each letter and syllable as clearly as possible, while pointing towards the toy and looking at him intently.

Something in her pale green gaze was forceful and expectant, and Harry suddenly realized, with a start, _exactly _what she wanted from him.

It was a test.

Clearly, he hadn't been really paying as much attention as he ought to have to his behavior, causing him to stand out in a manner that he wasn't sure was entirely beneficial to him.

Should he ignore her? Pretend not to understand?

Certainly, it would make his life easier if he did... surely?

But on the other hand, he _had _been feeling dreadfully bored during those few times when his mother was too tired to distract him with new colours, sounds and motions.

Perhaps being thought of as something of a prodigy would at least give him a little more mental stimulation... and some exercise would go amiss, either.

But having grown up as a golden boy once, Harry wasn't entirely sure he wanted to go through _that _sort of experience _again_.

And during his very long life, Harry had only ever met two prodigies - plenty of exceptionally bright people, yes, but not many actual prodigies - and they had been Hermione Granger and Tom Marvalo Riddle.

Neither of whom had had very good childhoods, for sure. But did Harry actually want to go through the farce of making friends with two-year-olds? He was laid back, for sure, but even he wasn't certain if he could go through the motions of play fighting with sticks or the like without feeling dreadfully embarrassed.

Wouldn't he stick out anyway, as the quiet, 'boring' child?

Feeling far more uncertain that he had in long, long time, Harry lifted his head (having stared at his oddly patterned blanket for a while) and looked the girl straight in the eyes. Hermione had told him that maintaining eye contact was key, but the girl wasn't wavering in her own gaze.

Strong willed.

That, or his 'serious look' simply didn't come across well, coming from an infant.

_'Can I trust you?' _He asked, his gaze unwavering.

_'Whose benefit is this for? Mine or yours?" _

* * *

**AN: **Holy crap, it's been... six months since my last update! I could swear it was a few weeks, at most. O.o

Sorry it's not very exciting guys - some of you asked for slow, some asked for fast, I got confused and decided to just do whatever the hell I felt like doing at the time. ^.^ It's kind of like a writing exercise, for me... only more fun!

I've written this bit by bit, so it might come across a little disjointed, and I'll probably go through it with a critical eye later, but I just feel like if I don't publish this now, I won't put it out _ever_.

That being said, if you see any spelling mistakes or typos, feel more than free to let my know via PM or something.

Believe it or not, I'm a hypocrite that _hates _spelling mistakes. You know...

"rogue" and "rouge", "quiet" and "quite", "definitely" and "defiantly" etc.

So if you SEE any of these, feel free to kick me in the ricker!

And, last but NOT least...

A massive thanks to _everyone _who has read my awful drabble! You make me smile like a moron and without you, I'd probably just write this sneakily and then just send it to the Recycle Bin where it belongs... except that in a recycle bin, it would mean that it would eventually be spat right back up, probably in the form of toilet paper or something.

Once again, a massive thanks and hopefully, I won't wait half a year for the next update.

P.s. Most of the actual action will happen in the next chapter(s), there's an actual time skip on the rocks! - so there's still time to complain/make suggestions if you'd like, and if they are sound, I will definitely take them into consideration.

Even if its a 'you suck for changing your tense half-way through', or something.

I'll stop rambling, because it fucks with my word-count, and I hate it when I read an otherwise awesome story but get 1/3 chapter, 2/3 diary. They should probably make a separate section for author notes or something.

But, I've said it once and I'll say it again - I'm a bit of a hypocrite.

Kind regards,

~ Monkey in a Jump Suit


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